Iridescence
by IsYourH3artTaken
Summary: I told myself not to look down as I climbed. I knew I was high and the catty giggles below me did nothing to help my concentration. My foot snagged into a loose hole, and before I realized it was cut clean, I was falling down into powerful arms. "I got you," a deep voice murmured in my ear. I knew who it was and for the first time, I didn't feel afraid. I felt safe. Cato/OC. R
1. Someone Else's War

**Disclaimer: I don't own THG, just my OC and her family.**

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_ There's something inside me that pulls beneath the surface.  
Consuming; confusing.  
This lack of self-control I feel is never ending.  
_

**Chapter One: Someone Else's War**

The grain fields ticked my bare feet.

I lied on my back on the soft, bumpy dirt, digging my toes into the warm soil. A mosquito flew through the tall, spindly stocks and landed on my calf. I smiled from the sensation of it's wings fluttering against my skin as it crawled down to my ankle. The sun was mild in the sky, sending down a bright beacon of light despite the cool breezes that rattled the fields. It was Reaping Day. I kept my head above water for the past five years, but as the weeks seemed to shorten, so felt my lifeline.

Except now, I was hanging on for two.

My brother Maximus stuck with me since he turned twelve, and that first day he stood in front of the Justice Building, I thought for sure I was going to lose him. Somewhere in that big glass bowl, was two chances of him going into the Games. But I got to keep him for another year. Today, that fear was coming back. Slowly creeping on me like a bad cold in the middle of Spring, and twice as potent, just like his chances of getting called.

He was falling off the edge again, just beyond my reach.

"Clem?" My mother's voice called from the distance. I turned my head to meet her mint leaf green eyes. Her expression was clean, empty as if she had just woken up from a deep slumber. She had been awake since five o'clock.

I knew why.

"It's time," she told me. Her voice carried to me through the wind. I didn't answer her. I didn't even blink or acknowledge her with a nod or a smile. I never did during these times.

I rose from my bed of grain and soil, then followed her silently to our house. Max would be waiting like he usually did, pensive, cold, and pushing all of us away. He did it out of fear, a place of unresolved anger. He'd never talk to me or our parents until the ceremony was over. Sometimes not until the next morning. That was only a reaction of him or I potentially going into the Games.

I couldn't bring myself to imagine what he'd do if it actually happened.

I walked into my room without saying a word. The clothes I had chosen earlier that morning hung over the back of my chair. They were simple, suitable. A pale ecru school shirt with a matching skirt that cut off at the knees. My sandy colored hair was short, falling a little past my collar bones, and I tied it back into a neat bun. It felt like getting ready for the first day of school, nerves getting the best of me.

The hem of my skirt was slightly wrinkled the shirt collar was sticking up in an awkward position. I smoothed it down with my fingers, but it had done no good. It flapped upward like a pigeon's wings. Oh, well, I thought carelessly. I guess that was as good as it was gonna get. Max was ready, sitting at the breakfast table when I came out. I could tell from the red lines under my mother's eyes that she had been crying, though she said nothing. Not word or a smile. Just as I did.

She reached for my hand as we walked into the daylight.

My father was out working in the fields, collecting grains like he had for the past fifteen years. He never came with us for the Reapings. In all the five times we've attended, he never once came. The last instance where we'd tried convincing him to come was during my second Reaping, when I was thirteen. It led to an ugly fight between he and my mother. He ended up breaking a table chair in half, then spent the entire night out in the fields.

Some said he was working, sleeping, even drinking until the sun rose up. I would've believed all three. When you live in District 9, there's not much else to do beside that. I spent most of my childhood playing out in the fields when not in school. Sometimes my dad would let me help him and his friend Henry Belafonte collect grains for processing, which wasn't exactly frowned upon, as long as it didn't interfere with the child's schooling. I didn't have a lot of friends at school, as I was mostly quiet and kept to myself.

When Max was born, I helped my mother with caring for him. Playing with him didn't become an option until he turned five and even then, we couldn't do much except frollick in the fields of grain. We'd race through the stocks, whoever making it first to the wired fence would claim victor. I let him win a lot when he was tiny, the top of his light honey colored hair just reaching to the middle of my thigh. As we both grew older and taller, we upped the competitiveness and didn't hold back.

At the finish line of most of our rounds, we were both winded and breathing heavily. At times he'd be nipping at my heels and others he'd be a good thirty seconds behind, granting me a flawless win. My mother used to comment that if I kept practicing, I could run as swiftly and gracefully as a gazelle. But those were just dreams, dreams that kept me coasted. Dreams were called what they are for a reason. If they always came true, they would be called something else.

We were one of the last residents to reach the front of the Justice Building. Every eligible child had gathered in the center, marked off into their respective age groups. I stopped when my mother squeezed my hand, then turned toward her. The whites of her eyes were veiny and swelling with water. The creases at the corners of her eyes appeared deeper, more sunken in, ringed in shadow. I pinched the skin of my palms with my fingernails to prevent that valve inside me from breaking. I went five years without switching it off, without breaking down. I wouldn't let this day be any different.

She quickly kissed Max's cheek and mine, stroked my hair once, then ushered us off before they reprimanded us for stalling. Since I was in the hughrer age category, I had to stand in the front rows. Max was in back with the other boys and I snuck a glance in his direction right as the Mayor stepped up to tell the story of how the very first Hunger Games came to fruition. I could recite the tale by heart after hearing it so much.

Our District's escort, Mayella Merryweather, glided to the mic as soon as the Mayor was finished speaking and had taken his seat. Her voice was like a whistle blowing softly in my ear, high in octave and all sorts of obnoxious. I balled my hands into tight fists to keep myself from cringing. I didn't want my face to be read so openly, especially when cameras were around watching your every move.

She had a very peculiar stature. Her thick hair reminded me of the color of grains, except with a golden beige tint. She had a very thin, almost gaunt face that was caked with expensive powder, lips outlined carefully in gun metal blue and a smile that could be mistaken for a shark's bite. When she blinked, I thought of a hawk staring down at me from the highest peak, sharp and regal.

Mayella crossed the spacing to the Reaping balls and plucked out a name from the girls' bowl. I held my breath and counted to six.

Six seconds. That was usually how long it took for her to announce the name.

_One._

_Two._

_Three._

She unfolded the paper.

_Four._

_Five._

Her eyes briefly flicked across the surface.

_Six._

"Clementia Woodfield."

My mother once told me that it was better to feel pain than nothing at all. Having emotions reminded you that you were human. You were alive, and you bled, and you cried and no matter how hard you were suffering...you were surviving through it all. I thought of her words at that moment, but nothing inside me clicked. My mind felt like an empty plate. My heart was beating with the thrum of a theatre drum.

My name. They called my name.

I could practically feel the other girls' breath blow over me as they exhaled in relief and their stares bore into my back. They were waiting for me to go up, but I couldn't move. My legs were locked stiff. My blood turned to cement and I did nothing for seconds except stand there dumbly. The beat of my heart even seemed to dull. I must have looked utterly moronic.

Mayella stood impatiently on the stage, tapping one high heel clad foot and waved at me to come forward after a moment's hesitance. Four Peacekeepers came toward me then, one grabbing my forearm firmly and pushed me to the stage. I almost tripped and fell from the man's heavy hand, but regained footing quickly. Mayella smiled when I slowly strode up the stairs and lightly touched my back when I was within close range.

She spoke into the mic again and declared it was the boys' turn.

I couldn't stand it. My brother was somewhere amongst the awaiting crowd and I dreaded the thought of making eye contact with him. I couldn't think about what my mother must've been feeling or my father away on his fields, unknowing of the fact that one of his children had just been sentenced to die. This was no game to me; no sport or competition. This was a slaughter, an execution. The only way I'd be returning home was through a body bag.

I couldn't think about any of it. I refused to let those poisonous thoughts inside my mind, to swallow them down my throat and have them kill my resolve, eat away at the steel that lined my stomach. Instead, I did the only thing possible. I raised my chin at the sun and smiled vacantly, faintly, as if it were a new born infant.

Mayella read the boys' name, her voice ringing across the rows of draftees like a dove's cry. "Nero James."

Nero.

Nero.

I knew that name. He was a boy in my math class. Very smart and quick witted. He was one of those students that turned in assignments first before anyone else. I was always intimidated to ask him for help when I was having trouble. Being around particularly advanced peers gave me this shrinking feeling. Like ant to antelope.

He made his way to the stage, four Peacekeepers stationed at his every corner as he walked up the stairs. I saw his cherubic face from my peripheral vision, but I didn't turn my head to look at him. Even when Mayella urged us to shake hands like the good sports we were, I stared at an ink spot on the breast of his white shirt.

His palm was moist and warm, clinging against my own clammy, flushed skin.

Mayella's voice cut through the air like a knife. "Let's hear a round of applause for our tributes from District 9."

Select citizens clapped for us and through the sea of bodies, I saw my mother looking up at me, eyes gleaming like small black stones.

_It's better to feel pain than nothing at all._

But I didn't feel anything, mother. Nothing.

000

Two Peacekeepers led us briskly into the Justice Building, closing the sound proof door behind us. The eerily calm silence of the waiting room I was forced into was disheartening. It came to the point where I hummed the anthem softly to myself just to stir up some kind of noise. I twisted around on the uncomfortable couch and faced the window, watching as the district's resident's scattered away to their families, hugging them in safety.

My throat felt dry and painfully sore and each time I swallowed, it felt like a piece of metal was lodged in my windpipe, scraping and bleeding me. There was no sound in the room except for my own monotonous heartbeat and unsteady intakes of breath.

The door swung open then, the scent scent of my mother's pleated dress filled my lungs, ripe with fresh grain and sweet soil and the after musk of water from the Great Lakes. She crashed right into me, wrapping her lean arms around my shoulders in a trembling hug. There wasn't a single part of her that didn't shake. I returned the hug with equal depravity, feeling the collar of my shirt soak with her tears. She was crumbling right in front of me, delicate, worn, and greying and I closed my eyes and cried along with her because there wasn't anything else I could've done.

We sobbed for a long time, holding each other close, heaving, and struggling to take a proper breathe. For the longest time, I only said: "_I can't."_

Tears left me feeling drained and raw, and I peeled myself away before I completely shut down. The circumstances wouldn't change from my bawling. Come morning I would be miles away from home in the Capitol and most likely never return again. At least they were kind enough to send fallen bodies back to their homes to be rightly buried. I would come back to them, in some way.

Max's shuffling footsteps came into the room, but stopped directly in front of the door. I peered around my mother's shoulder, meeting his blank, sky blue eyes. The tiny freckles dotting the bridge of his nose and cheekbones appeared flush, like he'd just pushed through a panic attack or a fit of anxiety.

"Max," I said hoarsely, holding an arm out to him, waiting for his final hug but it never came. He stood there, eyes glossed over, and hands clenching into knuckle white fists. A shutter fell over his face, stoning his baby features and shifting him a colder, pent up Max that I'd never seen before.

I had always wondered what he'd do if one of us ended up reaped. Now I knew; it wasn't a surreal fantasy. "Max?" The words came out like a garbled choke and my arm began to fall back down.

He turned fluidly on his heel then, and exited the room with boiling anger that you feel from a thousand yards away.

"He's scared for you," my mother whispered to me, running a hand down my face. "The thought of losing you is too much for him."

"Better me than him."

_CRACK._

She slapped me across my cheek, sharply as a bee's sting. "Don't you ever say that again," her voice was merely above a hiss.

I didn't move or lift my hand to cup my cheek, despite it's painful throbbing and immediate pulsing of blood beneath the skin. I just turned my face calmly back to her. "It's true," I murmured, staring right into her blazing eyes. "And you know it."

"No," she snapped again. "No, Clem. You can make it. If you-"

I threw my hands into the air, cutting her off. "Oh, please, mom! Who do you think is going to take over dad's factories when we're older? It's not going to be me. You know Max is the last chance this family has at surviving now that I'm in here."

Her aging face paled. "How can you say that? Are you that ready to die?"

I shrugged and faced the windows. Both of our reflections were crystal clear. "I'm just being honest," I told her, watching the people below. "We both know how this is going to end."

Her shoulders dropped. "Is that it then? You're just giving up before it starts?"

"Yeah, I guess I am."

"Then I've already lost you."

I couldn't let it show how much her words effected me. A quiet tug pulled at the lining of my stomach, as if I had swallowed a quarter cup of pills. I knew she was right. From the moment that piece of paper with my name on it slipped into Mayella's hand, I was no longer Clementia Woodfield. I was an instrument in someone else's war, another number for elimination. She was right; I was no longer hers. I was just the tribute girl from District 9.

Her reflection disappeared from the window and footsteps quickly padded to the door, pausing at the opening. "What do you want me to tell your father?" She asked me gently, a new sense of affection laced in her voice.

My expression didn't change. "Nothing. Don't tell him anything."

I didn't receive an answer so I knew she was already gone.

000

Hours passed.

Nero and I were eventually escorted to the tribute train, Mayella's hands placed at our backs maternally. It calmed me a bit and I allowed the muscles in my shoulders and neck to relax, exhaling deeply once we were inside. She chatted a million miles a minute all the way there, warning us not to break anything and to mind our manners when we met with Eclair Cross, the victor from the 51st Hunger Games. She was a serious woman, with dark chestnut hair parted down the middle, usually swept neatly behind her ears. Max and I were not yet born when she came out on top during her year and whatever legend she left behind barely simmered anymore within our district's walls.

It was like going into an arithmetic exam blind. No preparation, no incentive, no drive to make an effort. Complete nothingness. I didn't know what she was like, so my expectations held no record. Would she be hard on us? Nice? Caring? Nurturing? I had no clue.

Mayella gave us a brief tour of our shared train, showcasing different sections and ending with our individual rooms. She left us alone after that to get familiar with our temporary homes and to wash ourselves up. I sat on the ridiculously large bed once the door whooshed shut and the sound of her high heels tapping against the floor faded into the parlor. I took off my shoes and rubbed my feet over the silky soft carpet, squeezing my toes together as if it were sand. It was odd. To be at the bottom of society's barrel one moment then in the lap of luxury the next.

I dragged myself into the bathroom after fifteen minutes of playing sloth. My left cheek was painted a rosy hue and when I smiled, it felt like a needle was poking at it. I splashed it with cold water, fighting a groan when it's icy sensation worsened the feel of pins and needles dancing across the surface. Mayella knocked on the door after a moment, announcing that her and Nero were about to view the Reapings on television and invited me to join them. I ignored her request and just stared numbly into the mirror, looking at my reflection, but not really seeing.

I saw beyond it. I saw my home, my real home. Not this facade that people watch on tv and only dreamed about.

But everything was okay now. _I_ was okay.

I went out into the dining area after an hour's nap and stood by the window, watching the scenery flit by in a whirl of green and blue. Nero sat silently in one of the big plush chairs. He never once looked at me or said anything. He just sat there, arms limp at his sides, staring at his lap. In a way, I was relieved. It was easier that way. No pressures or obligations to instantly make a connection as a chosen pair. I was better off alone. The process would be easier that way and I wouldn't have to do much beside wait. Waiting would be the hardest, like enduring a hot winter just to get a bone chilling winter.

Both awful and extremely unpleasant.

There was still no sign of Eclair. Mayella didn't tell us if she was in her room or anywhere else, so it was diving for a needle in a haystack. She could've just locked herself up in her cage, refusing to speak to us until the next day, for whatever reason. Maybe that was apart of her coaching plan, to make us squirm, then she'd come down on us before we'd know it. I joined my district partner at the chairs and closed my eyes, burying everything around me as if it were only the sound of the train's engine running and it's wheels turning. I must have dozed off for some time because the next thing I knew, a slithering feeling snaked up my arms, pulling me from the peaceful haze of sleep with a jolt. When I opened my eyes, I was alone and the sky had darkened.

Everyone was gone. No Nero, no Mayella, and definitely no Eclair Cross.

How long was I out? I thought to myself, and stood up carefully, my knees slightly wobbling, then wadded toward my room. I paused when my stomach gurgled loudly. A cart of food was still available to us at any time and I pondered sneaking something small into my room with me, but decided against it. My stomach didn't feel so hot and I didn't want to add anything that would just leave me spending the night with the toilet. I didn't want to do anything except lie face down in bed and think of home. The last moments with my mother and how she slapped me, Max and his refusal to even speak to me, my father...who was never there.

My cheek still throbbed where my mother's hand connected and I lightly grazed a finger over the skin, wincing when I felt a stab of pain. She always had a strong hand. Built from all those years of crocheting, I guess. She always tried getting me into the hobby, but it just wasn't for me. A part of me regretted it now. It could've been something we bonded over, something that always kept us close. She was so far away now, probably consoling Max, or waiting for my father to come home to break the news to him. If he even came home. It wouldn't be shocked if he didn't.

But now wasn't the time for pointless thoughts of what I should have done differently. All that mattered was now and tomorrow.

I didn't leave my room for the entire night, not to watch any of the Reapings or have dinner. I just imprisoned myself until sun up, gazing out the huge window and mainly, sleeping. Mayella didn't bother me until early morning, rapping on my door again to announce breakfast time. The name stuck true to it's word. I hadn't eaten since lunch the previous day. My stomach felt empty and weak like a plastic bag. I needed to eat something, anything, so it didn't take me long to wash up, put on something clean, and join the others.

Mayella and Nero were already waiting for me, and when I came up to their sides, Eclair Cross emerged from her room, dressed presentable. There wasn't a sign she'd slept in or had been up all night. I met her gaze levelly and she assessed me casually, as if I was a mule for auction.

"I hope you've enjoyed your moment of riches because it's about to end," she told us simply. "The work begins today."

"What are we going to do?" I asked. All I wanted to do was get some food in my stomach.

Mayella clapped her hands together, smiling from ear to ear. "Tonight is the Tribute Parade. A special team of stylists will assigned to you and doll you both up nice and pretty."

Nero's brow furrowed. I could tell he hated the idea. "Can't we pick out our own clothes?" He said.

Mayella cackled. "Of course not, silly boy! That's their job. Don't worry, you'll be in good hands."

I looked back at Eclair and her sights were already on me. "How soon do we start?" My voice was hollow and sullen.

"Now," Eclair answered. And just like that, we were that much closer to the Capitol.

Thankfully, a breakfast cart had been prepared for us before we had woken up. Mayella took the liberty to serve Nero and I a plate. Scrambled eggs, hash browns, bacon, and an assortment of rolls with fat sticks of butter and jam ready to be spread. Pitchers of milk, coffee, tea and juice were brought to us on request. A bowl filled with fresh cut up fruit sat itches away from my overflowing china dish. Everything we ever wanted was within arms reach.

I found myself grabbing an apple slice and biting into it slowly. Sweet, cold juice trickled down onto my tongue and without another thought, I crammed the whole thing into my mouth, adding a second as soon as the one in my mouth was swallowed. The pattern repeated until the bowl was half empty and my lips were dripping with fruit juice. Feeling eyes stare into me, I glanced up to see Mayella looking at me in absolutes horror. Her glossy blue lips hung open in a tiny 'o'.

A spoon was loosely fitted into her hand. "Do you chew before swallowing?" She snipped, obviously disgusted by my quick pace. I guess fast chewing came with fast running.

I just ducked my head at her comment and began to nibble at the other food on my plate with my fork. By the time our plates were cleaned and the cart was rolled away, we arrived at the remake center. This train ride didn't seem as long as the first one and I wondered if it was because I had something to do to keep my hands and mouth busy. We jerked to an abrupt stop and the clatter of cameras and overlapping of voices gave me a sudden feeling of claustrophobia. When the thin layer of metal and glass no longer separated us from the rabid crowd, camera lens and microphones were shoved instantaneously into my face, one nearly snacking straight into my nose, but I jerked away just in time.

Thankfully, Mayella was there to keep them at bay and led us safely away. I kept my head ducked low all the way, focusing on my shoes instead of the incessant voices yelling my name. I didn't once grant them the satisfaction of attention. We were taken straight into the remake center to be put through a prep run, consisting of waxing, brushing, and exfoliating, then were dropped off into our main stylist's hands once we were baby soft and shining bright like newborns. I couldn't help but run my hands across my upper thighs and stomach. My skin felt brand new, like I had just gotten dunked into a jar of honey.

District 9's stylist was Veda, an eccentric woman, though very kind. She gushed over the fact that this was her first year being assigned to this district. She had done each one except nine. Until this year, at least. Naturally, the first thing that came to her mind was grain. And lots of it. I could barely stand straight as her hands worked magic, squeezing us into body suits with rows of silver and gold jewels embroidered from ankle to neck. Silver half circles were securely placed above our heads, resembling a halo.

I felt awkward and stiff like a wooden scarecrow, but I smiled and nodded as believably as I could when Veda asked if I liked it. Honestly, it really didn't matter if I liked it or not. I had to wear it either way without a say. Our chariots were ready and waiting for us in a perfect line. Perfume was sprayed all over our faces and neck, probably to drown out the tangy smell of horse hair. Other tributes had already mounted theirs while others took the remaining time to add some finishing touches to their costumes.

That's when I saw him.

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**A/N: "Crawling" by Linkin Park**

**After reading the first HG book, I couldn't resist making a Cato/OC story. He's just too interesting. I ****hope it ****turned out okay.** **You know who shows up in the next chapter ;) But** **is it worth continuing? Let me know - Review? **

**Thanks for reading!**


	2. Outside My Innocent Heart

_**Iridescence**_

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_I had a way then, losing it all on my own_  
_ I had a heart then, but the queen has been overthrown_  
_ And I'm not sleeping now, the dark is too hard too beat_  
_ And I'm not keeping now, the strength I need to push me_

**Chapter**** Tw****o: Outside My Innocent Heart**

He was all in gold, from head to toe, like a Roman Gladiator.

Even standing several feet away, I could see that his eyes were blue. Cloudy, like frozen rivers or the sky right before it darkens. His impressive height and physical stature ensnared me like a net. I had seen well built boys before, of course, but none were up to par with this one. He was a product of wealth and luxury. I could tell by the corners of his eyes. They were smooth, untouched. Not a crease, dent, or crinkle.

Most District residents, those of the lower class, tended to appear very tired and worn. Expired. You never really saw people from District 1 or 2 look exhausted. Maybe it was because they never had an honest day's work in their lives. Not like children in District 9. Kids were permitted to assist in the fields once they turned ten. And by twelve years old, they could help processing in factories, under authority supervision. I had done it as a child and Max did the same during his time.

Over the course of the last six months, it was starting to become mandatory. Forms were sent out to each home for the parents to fillout and they'd return it the next day at the Justice Building. Something for keeping track on how many hours each child worked each week. I guess the Capitol didn't want to over exert them. We were never compensated for it. It wouldn't have gave them a pretty image if they were faced with child slavery slams. I was sure whispers of it was going on within District 9's walls, but no one ever addressed it. No one did anything anymore. Someone had at one time, but all it did was lower the population and raise the headstone count in the graveyard.

But the muscular boy...

He worked before, but not the kind I was familiar with. His large, strong looking hands and thick biceps made something in my gut throb. This was a boy who worked hard to get to where he was; he wanted to be here. His whole life must've been dedicated to it, trained for it. I couldn't imagine anyone wanting to live a life like that. It was inhuman.

"Spotted the Careers, eh?" Veda murmured in my ear, patting my headpiece into place.

The Careers.

Of course. I should've known. Everyone knew about them.

"Which one is that?" I asked, fighting not to look at the intimidating boy.

Veda shrugged a tan shoulder. "Can't really say, but he's one of the tougher ones." She placed both hands on my face, rubbing her thumb along my powdered cheekbone and looked at me square in the eye. "Pick your battles," she told me quietly and lightly smacked my rear as I stepped up on the chariot.

I only imagined how silly I must have looked, covered in a body suit that made me look like a pound of wheat. If Max was there with me, he'd be laughing, poking fun at my outfit and cracking jokes.

_You look like a ball of yarn, Clem, _I heard his voice in my head and the corners of my mouth instantly curled up. A burst of giggles escaped my lips and I tried my best to keep a straight face as the first few chariots rode down the center strip. Nero looked at me with that somber, blank face of his and it dampened my spirits a little, making my smile fade and wither away. I stared at the fancy decorations on our horse's head until our chariot was pulled out, my second of nostalgia gone.

The wind hit my eyes as the chariot carried us down, and I blinked in quick succession to prevent them from watering and spilling over. Veda would chew me to pieces if I let my makeup leak and run muddy trails down my cheeks, running her hours of work. I did my best to look pleasant and approachable to the raving crowd, waving here and there, even returning a few of their smiles. I listened to President Snow's voice as he made his annual speech. He looked so miniature standing up on his pedestal, though his large, white puffy hair stuck out around him like the rolls of sugared candy my dad used to buy for me when I was younger.

By the time, we were rolled back into the remake center, my brow was sweating and dripping beads down my face. Hands gripped at me everywhere, wiping my skin dry, flitting a makeup brush over my forehead, removing my headpiece and thrusting a glass of water at me. I took it deliberately and sipped it graciously, my hand trembling as I gave it back to one of Veda's assistants. They were all saying something to me, but I didn't catch any of it.

"You're shaking like a leaf," Veda observed, a lean hand pressed against her cheekbone. "Maybe you should sit-"

"I'm fine," I belted out, feeling light headed, but managed to stay on my feet. I brushed past Nero and walked toward the front of the horses, seeking comfort and solitude, running my hand along the horses' soft fur.

I thought about my mother, my father, and Max, wondering if they watched the parade and felt pride when the cameras showed us. Or if they didn't bother to watch at all and decided to go to bed early. Maybe my dad was out in the fields, working and drinking until the skin on his hands began to peel and his vision blurred. I could almost smell the alcohol in the air, taste it on my tongue. A drink would've been nice right about then.

I petted the horse's head, stroking the fur between it's wide black eyes. It yipped softly and wagged it nose close to my face, almost hitting my own, but I ducked at the right time.

"Easy, boy," I said softly, giggling. Voices echoed and melded together behind me, but they weren't Veda, Eclair, or Mayella. I glanced over my shoulder and saw that tall boy from earlier surrounded by his District's entourage and another shorter, petite brunette that I assumed was his partner.

"His name is Cato," a voice whispered from beside me. Looking up, I saw that it was Eclair, standing stiffly with her arms crossed. She tilted her head down to look at me. "Follow me and I'll tell you more."

000

She took us to our apartment floor.

It wasn't like anything I'd ever seen before. The ceiling was as high as the sky, the floor was smooth and shiny and squeaked when our shoes tapped against them. If I stopped and stared, I could see my reflection, clear and pallid as if I was looking in a mirror. My eyes looked tired and sagging. My pale cream colored lipstick did nothing for my features and gave me a very washed out appearance. Like grain.

"Come, my dear. Don't dawdle," Mayella chimed when I stood still and just gazed around. She took my arm and hurried me along, gushing over the beautiful clothes she left in my bedroom dressers for me to wear.

She bustled into my room, quickly starting the shower, and telling me to get ready for tonight's dinner. Then she left just as swiftly. I stood there alone, digging my toes into the soft carpet and contemplated on whether to go out and speak to Eclair about the Careers. But I knew if Mayella saw me walking on the tile with my dirty feet, she'd flip. So I went to the bathroom and slowly discarded my tight, uncomfortable body suit.

I wrapped my arms around my stomach once I was bare, a knot of uneasiness forming in my chest. My body looked so frail and weak. One good shove into a solid object could break a bone. Whatever strength and will I had, I left it in the hands of my family so they could curl up with it at night and go to sleep. Maybe the good thing about being petite was that it didn't take much to meet an end. I wouldn't need somebody to stab me or shoot me with an arrow in order to die. A potent disease would do the trick, or starvation and dehydration.

It wouldn't take long...

A sharp rap came at the door. "Are you washing, girl?" Mayella demanded.

I sighed and ran a hand through my messy hair. "Yes," I answered groggily and stepped in the shower to block out her voice and any other noise.

I stood under the falling water, closing my eyes as it cascaded down my skin and fogged the glass. I scrubbed my body clean of make up and expensive perfume, leaving a soft pink hue in the spots where I washed a little too vigorously. The strongest smelling soap couldn't get the overwhelming scent of whatever they sprayed in my hair. It was almost sickening to be smelling so sweet, like frosting or the freshest sweet roll. I missed the natural musk of grain and the soft spice of soil, small reminders of District 9 and it's eternal home within my mind.

I shut off the water once my skin began to sting by it's heat. The welt on my cheekbone, left by my mother, still pulsed slightly, the bruise faint and sensitive. The skin over it was a couple degrees warmer than the rest of my face and it hurt when I laid down to sleep at night, forcing me to lie on my side, which I wasn't accustomed to.

My drenched feet padded onto the tile, towel wrapped around my middle, then tip toed to my dresser for something suitable to wear. I knew Mayella would never forgive me if I didn't put something up to her standards. I chose simple black linen pants and a red shirt that fitted loosely along the waist. Not even the fussiest stylist would blanch at it.

Mayella's voice seeped in from the crack under the door, calmer this time. "Make haste, Clemmy. Dinner is waiting."

Clemmy? I thought to myself, one arm through the hole of the shirt I picked out. How did she know my nickname? It sounded so out of place coming out of her mouth, like a duck trying to bark.

"Coming!" I told her, and tucked my damp hair behind my ears before emerging at last. Eclair was sitting on the couch, legs crossed as she watched Caesar Flickerman's blue hair bob all over the screen. "Shouldn't we have that talk now?" I said, sitting two seat cushions down from her.

She replied without looking at me. "What do you want to know?"

"More about the Careers. You said you'd tell me-"

She lowered the tv volume, and turned toward me. "They're a trained group of killers. They fought and worked hard at a special school up until the Games. They don't care about anything else. Nothing matters except winning," she raised the volume again, "and killing."

"So?" I challenged, growing frustrated that she was barely giving any advice on how to train and deal with my competitors. It was like she wanted me to lose. "What do I do? How do I get rid of them in the arena?"

"You outsmart them, if they don't get to you first."

"That's helpful," I snipped and crossed my arms, leaning back into the sofa.

My spiteful comment ticked off Eclair and her jaw tightened, setting her thin lips in a flat line. "What do you want from me, girl?" She spat.

"I want you to act like you care whether we live or die!"

"Then you expect too much."

I stared at her, unblinking and watched as she turned back to the television set, upping the volume so she wouldn't be able to hear me if I decided to further complain about her coaching techniques. But I didn't waste my breath. It wasn't worth it. She wasn't worth it. I stood up and retreated back to my room, passing the dining table and cutting off the whispers in my head that told me I needed to eat, to fill my terribly empty stomach with something so my body would stay functioning and I would retain some sanity.

But the warm aroma and freshly cooked lamb chop and gravy filtered though my nostrils without effect. I was defeated, and nothing had even truly begun yet. Not until the following day.

"Clem, dear, will you not have dinner?" Mayella asked from the table.

I headed straight for my room. "I'm not hungry."

I closed the door and changed into a nightgown from from one of the many drawers. It was white and hit above the knee with pure lace straps and eyelet along the hem and neckline. It reminded me of something one would wear during their honeymoon, if they had the coin to purchase it or the talent to craft it by hand. I didn't feel like sleeping so I sat with my legs to my chest in front of the wide window, looking out into the night life. Building lights flashed from far away and people partied down below on the streets, going about their merryway without any remorse that up in the tributes building, most of the children would die within days.

And that's what we were: children. Young, naive, and impressionable, and forced to pay the price for someone else's mistake. But we weren't without strength, some at least. My brother Max would've handled this better than I. His skin was thick and his focus was strong and unwavering. There was some of my dad in him, a part that never reached my DNA and it left me feeling hollow, incomplete. I wouldn't wish it any differently, though. I meant what I said to my mother at the Justice Building and I still did. It was better that I was in here instead of Max. He was the one that could keep my parents on their feet and a roof over their heads when they eventually grew too old to work.

Knowing that made a numbing kind of relief wash over me and put a portion of my brain to rest, the part that over thought and poisoned my own self reasoning with false hope of making it toward the end. Being honest with myself was key if I wanted to make it through training and interviews without any blips or upticks. It wasn't a subject of being ready to die, but preparing yourself for your last moments and accepting it, embracing them. I my family would be fine without me and that's what kept me going.

I was at peace with my fate.

000

I skipped breakfast that morning.

My stomach still rebuffed the idea of food and churned at the smell of sweet watermelon and butter cream spread on toast with jam and so many other mouthwatering options. I quietly sipped my glass of milk at the table, listening as the others enjoyed their meal, silverware clinking together. Out of my peripheral vision, Mayella and Nero glanced at me periodically, anticipating the moment where I would give and pick up my fork and eat along with them.

But that moment never came.

I rose from the table when Mayella happily stated that it was 9:45; time to start the first day of training. She quickly kissed us both on the cheek and wished us luck.

"Knock them dead! Oh, no my dears, not literally. At least wait until you're in the arena," she babbled, but I offered her a weak smile and waved my temporary goodbye and headed for the elevator with Nero at my side.

"Clementia," Eclair's voice spoke from the living room. I turned halfway around, looking at her, but saying nothing. I had wasted enough breath. Her eyes were hard, though showed no trace of aggression or her usual cold demeanour. "Do what you do best," she said.

I locked retinas with her for a second, and nodded once, giving some reciprocation that I understood, then left for the training room. It was one of the highest floors of the skyscraper.

"You nervous?" I asked Nero as the doors hissed closed and began it's ascend. He was staring at the point of his shoes, lost in his own mind, if his mind was stable and coherent enough to warrant thoughts.

"Yes," came his mumble.

I watched the number at the top grow higher as we reached our floor. "Well, you should be. High chances are all of the other tributes are better than us." When he fell silent again, I glanced at him apologetically. "I'm sorry. I'm not trying to bring you down. Just being honest - for both of us." He said nothing and went back to staring at the floor, hands limp at his sides and eyes so vacant you would think he fell asleep with them open.

The doors opened then, and I went out first slowly, gazing around at the huge enclosure spotted with different courses and weapons stacked throughout the room. The Capitol Officials had a clear view from their high balcony, sipping on their wine, stuffing their faces with what looked like some kind of meat slathered with heavy sauce and tiny little lemon cakes. They laughed animatedly, chit chatting amongst themselves, and didn't spare us a lick of attention when Atala called us to the center. She explained the way things worked, what each station was meant for, and if we weren't at our peaks mentally and physically, the many ways we all could perish in the arena.

There was not one detail she left out.

Every tribute gathered around in a lopsided circle. Nero stayed close together despite us not communicating that much, but mostly for comfort that someone familiar was at their side. I took in everyone competing against me, every face and distinguishing features. Others looked uncomfortable as we were, while some were at ease, standing with complete confidence. The tall muscular one, Cato, the one I had seen the other night during the Parades was at my right, sizing up a petite brunette that looked nervous herself. At least I wasn't the only one.

She dismissed us after each topic had been covered and left us to start off as we saw fit. Most went straight for the weapon racks while a select handful headed for smaller stations like knot tying or learning how to build a successful fire. I stood there, torn, and watching the other tributes immediately begin to work. I didn't know where to make my mark. There wasn't anything remarkable I could accomplish with a sword or a bow or even rubbing two sticks together to create spark. I turned to Nero to ask him what he thought we should do first, but he disappeared off somewhere else, leaving me stranded with my conflicted feelings and indecision.

With a sigh, I wandered toward the camouflage station and tentatively picked up a brush, inspecting it. It was black, smooth and sleek. Something a painter would use for small touches on their finished art. I dipped it into a brown paint canister and made patterns on my wrist that I hoped looked like tree bark. After ten minutes and a full arm covered in the bitter smelling paint, I walked over and lifted my arm to the real tree grown into the room, comparing realness to artificial. It looked nothing like I was aiming for. The shapes I made looked like distorted diamonds instead of convincing bark, but then again I never had the talent of drawing pictures and bringing them to life so my failure wasn't so surprising.

I washed my arm off in the basin, dried it, then lingered behind two tributes from District 5 as they took turned throwing spears at a dummy. They missed both times and gave up in favor for a common sword. I contemplated on taking a swing at it myself, but a tall net leading up to the ceiling caught my attention. It was made of rope, strong and thick, and it reminded me of the kind my dad used to tie the sacks of collected grain together so none would fall our during the trip to the factories.

I strode closer, craning my neck high to see the length of it, and my hands clenched at the thought of getting the chance of climbing it, putting my foot through each hole and reaching the very top. I guessed it was to help our stamina if we had to progress over large rocks or worst case scenario, climb up a eighty foot tree. I was a pretty fast runner and my conditioning was fairly up to par, given the strict whole wheat and grain diet all District 9 residents were forced to be on. Climbing was a different take. It required more balance, precise placing, and speed was no small component.

_Don't be scared_, I told myself. _You can only fall and break your neck._

Cracking my knuckles, I walked closer to the net, glancing behind me to make sure I had no audience, but everyone else was engrossed at their own station. I couldn't perform unless I knew I was somewhat alone with it, so it was just me and what I enjoyed doing. I stuck my left foot into the first hole, grabbing a hold of the side rope, then added my right foot, stepping a level higher than time. Left, right. Left, right. The process continued like that for a full minute until I figured out my rhythm. I climbed and climbed, not realizing how swift I was actually moving and how I was spending not even half a second at each foot hole before going up to the next. I stopped midway to wipe the sheen of sweat coating my forehead and spared myself a look down at the other tributes. What I saw caught me off guard.

A group of six, mostly consisting the Careers, huddled a few feet away from the bottom of the net, tilting their faces up high, expressions wary and surprised by my sudden showcase of agility. I noticed Cato standing behind a smaller girl with two braid, and he had his arms crossed, watching me with a slight look of interest and raised an eyebrow when I paused to peer down at my gawking spectators. My hands trembled on the rope, feeling self conscious and the strong need to drop down from the net and find something else to do hit me like a snowball to the head. My right foot descended down, ready to shrink back into my shell and corner myself at the snares station until lunch, but something triggered in my gut. Switching on a part of me that didn't come to life unless I was playfully racing with my brother back home.

I felt the need to continue and show them all how fast I really could be. I turned away from them, facing the rope again, and pressed forward, catching the same speed as before and refusing to stop for a breathe. I reached the top and hung on with one hand as I surveyed the small bodies below, looking much tinier and less intimidating from a bird's eye view. I spotted Nero at the Bow and Arrow station and gave a little wave when he met my gaze. He looked confused, but returned it the gesture nonetheless. Satisfied, I began my journey down, and hopped to my feet when there was only four feet separating me from land. By then, the crowd had dissipated and regrouped to their respective territories.

A weight lifted from my shoulders and I rubbed at my damp cheeks as lunch was announced and a cart was rolled into the room. I grabbed an apple and two bananas before the entire tray could be swarmed and devoured within five minutes. Nero was sitting off in a secluded corner with his knees to his chest so I decided to join him. I tossed him a banana and half of the apple I cut in the middle. We munched together in silence, not saying much, and mostly observing the others. The Career pack dined together, taking more of their fair share of food.

The more I watched Cato, the more obvious it became that he was their leader. Muscle mass and height weren't the sole keys to leadership, but he appeared more serious about the Games than the others and possibly was the most dangerous out of all of them. Then again, it looked like the smallest one with two braids looked like she knew a thing or two with those throwing knives. I knew I had to steer clear of both of them in the arena, if possible. I was fast, but it would've been stupid to assume that they couldn't catch up. One mistake by me, and I'd be mince meat within seconds.

After lunch cleared out, I thought about returning to the net, but decided to try something new. The fire station was currently empty and called to me strongest over snares or the plant identifier. I sat crossed legged on the dirt and pieced together the wood, struggling to get a flame burning. As I fought with the bundle, a pair of footsteps thudded in my direction, too powerful to be the quiet, mousy Nero.

"Nine," a voice called out, calm and collected. I hadn't heard it before until that moment.

It took me a second to realize the voice was addressing me. I looked up, seeing Cato standing two feet away from my sad attempt at a fire. "What?"

"You're fast," he observed and his light blue eyes raked me up and down, but he looked far from impressed.

"Thanks," I said politely, keeping my guard up and firm.

He crossed his arms, shifting his weight slightly. "We need someone like you."

_"We?" _I repeated, confusion muddling the ability to comprehend.

"None of us are as fast as you. We need someone that can take weapons and supplies for us."

_For us. _

So they just wanted me as their pack mule. Someone to put themselves in harms way so they could come out pretty and clean, and not break a sweat scrounging for supplies. They'd probably kill me once they got what they needed from me. He might as well just suggested that they remove my innards and make me into a puppet. I didn't want to give them the glee of knowing they held the cards. They had zero influence over me, no matter how many there were or promises of goods they might pitch as bait. Eclair's words replayed in my head, and I wondered if by outsmarting them, she meant to avoid them.

Or join them.

They would kill me either way, but one could either prolonge or shorten my lifespan. Honestly, I didn't know which would be better.

I rose up from my knelt position and dusted my hands on my knees, looking up at him reproachfully. "What's in it for me?"

He cocked his head at me, as if the answer was obvious and I was dumb for asking. "You'll be with the Careers."

"What good is that?" I bit.

He shrugged carelessly, and uncrossed his bulging arms. "As good as you want it to be."

I didn't like his tone. There was something sardonic under it, something he was trying to keep hidden from me. He was doing good so far. "What's that supposed to mean?" I said.

"You'll figure it out."

I raised my eyebrows and stood in silence as his eyes assessed me for the second time, just as unimpressed, then strode back to his pack. The tall blonde girl, her name I didn't know yet, was glaring daggers at me from their corner, but smiled honey sweet at Cato as soon as he rejoined them. The shortest one, the one with two braids, was giving him a very hard, puzzled look. Like she was confused on why he was speaking to me. I was, too.

Being part of the common rabble, I wasn't worthy to be with the Careers, much less in one's presence. Maybe that was why the blonde one was giving me such poisonous stares. Or she had a crush on Cato. Affairs weren't unheard of during the Games. Almost every year, you heard something about two star-crossed lovers, played up for the audience to feed off of for their own enjoyment. I never believed any of them were genuine. But granted this was possibly everyone's last living days, wanting finding love and comfort was to be expected. Though, at a steep expense. Love left you easily vulnerable, manipulated.

I never wanted that to happen to me.

But I wasn't the person that easily opened up. In less than a week, we'd all be out there in the arena, bloodthirsty and ready to fight. Some more than others. What was the point in getting close to anyone? No matter how kind they may be.

I pondered Cato's offer, and the negatives outweighed the positives, what very little there were. Eclair had told me to keep my distance, and going against her seldom given advice seemed like an early death ticket. I knew she was right; a Career asking someone of the lower barrel was nothing but suspicious. I wasn't their accordion, ready to be played whenever they felt like. I wouldn't let them use me at their disposal then get rid of me as soon as they had their way. I should've told him that. I should've told him how I exactly felt about his little proposition, about everything.

_I don't trust you._

I just couldn't say it to his face.

* * *

**A/N: "Lights" by Ellie Goulding**

**So what do you think? How are you liking Clem? Leave me a review? :D**

**Thanks for reading!**


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